


Love Among Ruins

by locknkey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Cursed Object, Heavy Petting, M/M, Making Out, Mind Control, Pre-Canon, Ratings: R, Sam is sixteen, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28330731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/locknkey/pseuds/locknkey
Summary: Being a Winchester means Sam doesn't often get what he wants. Christmas Eve is no different.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Weecest Relationship/Wincest Relationship
Comments: 12
Kudos: 71
Collections: SPN J2 Xmas Exchange





	Love Among Ruins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merenwen76](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merenwen76/gifts).



> An awesome last minute beta by the lovely Keerawa made this so much better. All mistakes are mine.

Holidays suck when you're a Winchester. Definitely worse than the rest of the year because everywhere Sam turns there’s happy advertisements, people at school excited for events, and gifting. Sam’s holidays don’t look like that, never have. To top it off, bad shit seems attracted to special occasions. Winchesters are lucky to find a few hours to buy some cheap gifts and drink some eggnog. If it’s a really good year, he gets to have a movie marathon with explosions and a sober parent.

This year they split up. Dad took a case in Ohio and sent him and Dean to Indiana. Sam can't imagine any other sixteen-year-old spending Christmas Eve like this. They don't even have enough money left, after Dad took off with the last of the cash, for token presents this year. The only bright spot is spending what's left of the night with Dean. 

The case took forever to research and plan, but minutes to finish and leave the warlock bound like a trussed Christmas turkey for the police.

Sam’s thoughts cut off as he sees the Impala parked in an alley where they hid her earlier, and he slows his run. Dean gets there seconds ahead of him, touches a finger to the car - “Sammy, you will always touch her gentle. Ever slap or hit her and I’ll end you” - and pumps a fist in triumph as he yells out, “Beat you, slowpoke. Better up your PT.”

Sam flips him off and gets in the car. The place they’re staying in is a few hours out of town.

Sam flips the coin he took off the warlock through his fingers, but fumbles it before he can get it back in his grip. It’s a trick Dean and Dad do better, but he’s been practicing.

“Whatcha got, Sam?”

“Don't know yet. The warlock was holding it when we took him down.” He holds the amulet up for Dean to see. “Thought I'd check Dad's journal.” The symbol etched into the dull silver metal is a unicursal hexagram. “Research and documenting on Christmas Eve. Good times.”

Sam turns his face to the window, so he doesn’t have to see if Dean frowns or looks disappointed. He’s allowed to think he got a raw deal, to grieve the losses of a normal life, no matter how important what they do is.

They stop at the nearest phone booth, and Dean gets out. Sam flips the coin in the air a few times before rummaging for Dad’s journal in the back seat. Not particularly interested in getting down to business he watches Dean saunter off to feed quarters into the payphone. While Dean makes the call, he breathes over the glass on the booth and write’s something Sam can’t read from this far away. Dean exits the booth, breath huffing out in puffs of white. Dean has called the cops and he walks back to the car thumb raised in a victory salute.

Sam runs his thumb over the amulet in his pocket, tracing the single line that connects various triangles together on the surface of the medallion. It's etched deep into the metal, The motion is soothing and the weight feels right in his hand. It's as if he holds something much heavier, denser than the quarter-sized circle.

“You want to know what I wrote on that phone booth, Samantha?” Dean asks as he folds himself behind the wheel.

“Not particularly.” Sam does, but he’s not about to give Dean the satisfaction.

Dean doesn’t wait for Sam to reply. “I wrote, ‘Sam Winchester loves dick.’”

_If only Dean knew_

Dean laughs head thrown back, eyes shut as if it’s actually funny. Sam might think so too if it wasn’t at his expense.

Dean wipes at his eyes and turns the key in the ignition, mirth gone as swift as it came. “So, did you find anything in Dad's journal?” 

“Not yet.”

“Well get busy, brainiac, nights wasting.”

Sam sighs, as deeply and loudly as possible and enjoys watching Dean’s fingers flex on the steering wheel in irritation. Sam flips the pages once through, casually, to see if something jumps out at him. Nothing does, so he flips each page again, looking at the pictures. He learned to do a cursory visual to save research time. About a quarter of the way through, he sees it. The drawing is in the lower left corner, about an inch wide, and the words stretch up the side. He turns the journal sideways so he can read it.

“I found something. But it’s not much,” He reads it to Dean. “Probably for mind control. M.O.L ?” 

Dean asks, “What the hell is M.O.L.?”

“Don't know. That's literally the only thing I found. I've never seen it referenced anywhere else. You?”

“I'm not a scholar. That's all you, geek boy.” Dean wiggles his eyebrows. Sam doesn't argue. He hates how Dean puts himself down. His brother is so much more than he lets the world see, wears the persona of charming dumb-ass so well that he rarely lets it go, even with Sam. Sam knows from reading some psychology books that it's a defense mechanism that keeps Dean from getting too close to people who might hurt him. Sam wishes “people” didn't include him.

As if proving Sam’s point, Dean starts theorizing based on what they already figure out. “That would explain all those cases. I mean some of them looked like suicide, but who skins themselves with a knife? Huh? Maybe he told that one lady to go jump in a lake?” He grins as Sam. Sam grins back. It’s kind of funny now, not so much when they’d examined her gray, bloated body and found out she’d left her kid without any parents. “It makes sense that people were following orders or acting on suggestions. An artifact like that can channel more power than a person by themselves. Overriding peoples natural desires takes a lot of power.”

When Dean hits the play button on the tape deck and CCR blasts out, Sam stretches out, feet touching the back of the foot well. He caresses the metal disc in his pocket, wonders how it works. Maybe he should test it out. He could add what he figures out to Dad's journal. And, hell, maybe the warlock wasn't even using the thing, maybe it was hex bags or spell work. They'll never know if they destroy it right away. 

“Hey, Dean, why don't you stop at that burger place before we go back. I want one of those strawberry shakes.”

Dean grins and says, “Sounds perfect. I'm starved after all that waiting.”

Okay, maybe it wasn't a great test. Dean and burgers – it was kind of a given he'd go along. 

* * *

The strawberry shake is too cold for winter in Indiana, but it's fantastic, made with real strawberries, and it's not like Sam can wait until summer. By summer Indiana will be far behind them. He sips slowly, rolls the cold cream over his tongue until it melts and slips down his throat. Dean's burger is already gone, and the fries sit between them for sharing.

Another idea for testing the amulet has crept into Sam's head. It's a good test.

Dean never fails to regale Sam with his sexual exploits, but there were a couple of dates, a while back, that Dean had been resolutely silent about, even after Sam had hinted at it. Whenever he teased or asked, pink had crawled up Dean's neck into his cheeks. Sam has mixed feelings about Dean's overshares. It’s awkward, sure, but he enjoys how animated and intense Dean gets; his eyes turn even greener and dimples frame his mouth. Dean's sex stories drown Sam in sensation. He’s turned-on and embarrassed at the same time. It's uncomfortable, but also squirmy good. 

When Dean comes home after a date, the stories are a little ritual they follow. Sam wakes from the rumble-squeak of the Impala pulling up outside. He listens for Dean’s footsteps – dragging feet means he's a little drunk, stomping means he didn't get laid, a staccato step means it was a really good night. Dean will do something loud, like slam the door or drop his boots. Sam will call him a jerk and say he was asleep. Dean will say something cheesy, like, “No time for sleeping when your big brother wants to educate you on the ways of women, Sammy.” Sam will retort with something to imply he doesn't want to know. Dean will persist, while stripping down to his boxers and t-shirt before crawling into Sam's bed. They'll curl towards each other, not touching, but close enough to feel the other's heat. Then Dean's voice will roll over him, soft sounds filled with filthy descriptions. Sam will hoard those gems away, take them out when he's alone and relive them as if he was there. The thing he can never say, shies away from even thinking, is that it's not just imagining himself in those scenes with Dean that excites him, but how those shared moments are a gift, something no one else gets from Dean, and they are all the more precious for that.

So, for months now, Sam's obsessed over what he didn't get, the experience Dean wouldn't share. Right in the palm of his hand is the answer to that curiosity problem. Before he can listen to that little voice trying to tell him prying into Dean's secrets is wrong, he asks, “So what happened on that date a few months back, the one you wouldn't tell me about. Tell me now.”

Dean's knuckles whiten and his grip tightens on the wheel. His jaw clenches and he swallows, but the words tumble out in a rush, “Her name was Rhonda. She made me wear pink panties. I liked it.” Dean snaps his mouth closed and whips the car off the road. 

“What the hell,Sam? Give it to me.”

“No.”

“Sam – “

“Let me keep it.” Something ugly curls in Sam's gut, something that makes him feel guilty, but also satisfied. He doesn't take it back, but he offers a concession. “I promise I'll destroy it when we get back. I just want to figure out how it works.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn't do that at my expense, Sam.” He shoots a look across the seat that Sam can't decipher, something like displeasure with a side of distrust. “Also, you know messing with this stuff isn't a good idea. There's always a cost.”

Sam let's go of the amulet for the first time since he pocketed it. Blood rushes back along the imdented pattern in his skin, leaving a tingling in the absence of the metal.

“Can we just go?” Sam makes sure it's not a command.

* * *

Putting the last dirt mile behind them, the Impala rolls slow into the gravel driveway.

“I'll put some coals on the fire pit in the back and let it get good and hot. We'll salt it just to be safe.” says Dean.

“While you do that I'll add an entry to this.” Sam holds up the journal and follows Dean to the side of the shack they're staying in. It's barely bigger than a hotel room, but they can cook, so it's easier to be on a budget. The fire pit was there when they moved in. They've used it to make weenies, roast a pheasant Dean shot, and one time to make s'mores. If they weren't on a hunt Sam would think it was a good vacation. Sam sits on one of the stumps that curve around half of the pit. It's really just a hole in the ground surrounded by stones – the owner left a season's worth of firewood – but Sam appreciates how it's different from the monotonous routine of motels and fast food.

He's almost finished when Dean walks over, puts out his hand and says, “Give it.”

Sam hesitates. That's all it takes for Dean to have him in a head lock and rooting around in his pocket. 

“Stop.” Dean goes still and Sam steps away from him. Edges himself closer to the one-room house, well out of Dean's reach.

“What the hell, Sam? Thought you were going to destroy it?” 

Breath fills his lungs, exits again. Anger at Dean, and some little brother payback provokes him to counter, “Why should I? If we always play it safe, we can't learn anything.” Sam tastes the lie. He knows that research has nothing to do with his need to make Dean dance, which he can literally do. “Dance like a ballerina.” Dean goes up in his tiptoes and gives it his best, hands in the air and an attempted arabesque. Sam can't stop laughing. Joy at getting exactly what he wants, while pissing Dean off moves every other motion out of the way.

“Fuck you, Sam, When I get a hold of you. I am going to make you pay?” Dean says while awkwardly spinning around.

“Cluck like a chicken.” 

Dean clucks.

“Pretend you're a ninja.”

Dean hunches down arms posed like a ridiculous movie character as he tiptoes around with a pretend knife. 

“Stop. Stay there.” He's not about to let Dean get the jump on him. 

“Sam, what the hell's gotten into you?” Dean sounds fierce, but Sam sees the fear, the knowing in his eyes that he's got no control over this situation. Something wicked and hot twists up from Sam's belly. He likes this, likes having Dean helpless and vulnerable.

“Run in place.”

That lasts for about two minutes before Dean stops and bends over his knees panting, too out of breath for some smart ass comment. Sam makes a mental note: the commands seem to have a limited time.

He tries something else to test the theory. “Jump up and down.”

Still about two minutes before Dean stops, then says between panted breaths, “Is that all you got?”

Anger explodes right from his brain to his tongue. “Pat your stomach and rub your head. Run in a circle backwards. Do a somersault. Howl like a wolf. Pretend you’re a fish.” The commands come one after another and with each performance satisfactionblooms inside Sam, a heady rush of something he's never felt before. Eventually, Sam runs out of ideas and finishes with. “Stay there.”

The look in Dean's eyes would scare anyone but Sam. He's high on power and can't feel anything but a surge of sheer triumph. 

“Want me to line dance? How about I pretend I'm a dog and you make me curl up at your feet? Dean's voice drips with venom. 

The words should make Sam feel guilty. A tiny part of himself, that he shoves off to the back of his brain to wither and die, knows he's going too far, that this time Dean might not forgive him. He can't find it in himself to care.

“Hey, maybe tell me to go fuck myself? How would that work out? Think that thing would force me to try until I tore myself apart?”

Sam’s brain skips right over the attempt to shut him down and lands on images of naked Dean. He doesn't think, the words spill from his hind-brain right into a command. “Kiss me.” As soon as he says it, Sam is assaulted by such a mix of _joy, fear, yes, oh god_ that he can't latch on to anything but shock. Dean stalks towards him, grabs his elbows, pushes him up against the wall. The slats of wood dig into his scapula, but all Sam cares about is what is right in front of him. Dean pauses, his eyes search Sam's. Sam doesn't have the strength to put a stop to this. It's something he's thought about since, well, … he can't really remember when wanting Dean to hug him changed to wanting Dean to kiss him. It's like it's always been a part of him.

Dean wedges a foot in between Sam's feet and knocks his knees apart, presses the full length of his body along Sam's. Sam gasps, head spinning. His eyes are glued to Dean's mouth. He’s so close to the plush softness that's featured in more fantasies than he can recount. One of Dean's hands grabs his wrist and the other curves around his jaw. Dean takes Sam’s mouth, rushing right past gentle to urgent and Sam opens under his tongue. Sam groans into the kiss and his free hand clutches at Dean's shirt. He hangs on tight as his knees go weak. 

Then it's over. Dean steps away and holds up his hand, amulet pinched between finger and thumb. “Ha. Got it. And now I'm going to burn it.” 

Sam slides down the wall, butt hitting the cold ground. He's ruined everything. How could he be so stupid? He watches Dean walk away from him and over to the fire.

He lifts himself up, knees trembling now from the knowledge that he _forced_ his brother to kiss him. Head full of static he enters the house and goes to the small bureau that's next to the bed. He scoops out his clothes and shoves them in a duffle bag, Maybe Bobby will put him up for a while. He's putting the last of his things in the bag when Dean stomps into the room, turns Sam around, and shackles both of Sam’s wrists in his hands.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Dean shouts. If looks were daggers, Sam would be bloody ribbons on the floor. Anger looks fucking hot on Dean. Sam’s dick agrees and chubs up in his jeans. Sam rips his mind out of the gutter. Anything Dean wants to dish out he's earned. “Sam?” Dean shakes his arms.

Sam responds, eyes locked to their hands. “What's it look like? I'm leaving. I get it. I was a jerk and I shouldn't have forced you and I don't even know how you can stand to look at me and – ”

“Shut up Sam. Not that I'm not enjoying the groveling, but shut up. You’re not going anywhere.”

“What, you want to punch me first? Do it, Dean. I deserve it.” He really does, He's not sure how much punishment he deserves but maybe a fist to the face and leaving his family will suffice.

Dean sighs, “Look at me, Sammy.”

Sam doesn't want to, doesn't want to see hate where there's never been any before. But he can't deny Dean a last request either. He slowly raises his eyes. Dean's lips are twitching. His eyes are crinkled and filled with kindness. Sam doesn't understand.

“You may be smart about some things Sam, but sometimes you’re completely clueless. It's kind of adorably cute.”

_Is Dean sick? Did the amulet curse him when he burnt it? Did his brother actually call him adorably cute?_

Fingers are in front of his face snapping and Dean says, ”You with me Sam?” Dean's other hand is rubbing soothing circles on his wrists. ”Sam, look at me.” Dean releases one of his wrists and puts his fingers under Sam's chin and tilts it up. “You didn't force me.”

Before Sam can say anything, one of Dean's fingers touches his lips. It tingles all the way from Sam's lips to his toes and it's all he can do not kiss the tip of Dean's fingertip. “Listen. Do you remember what you told me to do?” Sam nods. “Right, kiss you. I could have done this.” Dean leans in and kisses Sam's forehead. “I could have done this.” He raises Sam's hand and kisses the back of it. “Or this.” He flips Sam's hand and kisses the palm. Dean's smile is wicked and feral as he looks up, and something in Sam starts to hope. “I chose that kiss.” Dean breaks eye contact then, “I've been thinking about it for a long time.”

“You have?” His voice comes out as a squeak.

“You've got no idea, little brother.” Dean makes looks right into his eyes. Sam sees how hard this is for Dean, to give voice to feelings he's held close. The mixture of vulnerability and lust is better than any scenario Sam could have dreamt up. Dean tugs on Sam's wrist, pulls him over to the entryway that divides the sleeping area from the living area, right under the mistletoe that Dean had brought back, along with a few ornaments and a half-dead tree. “Now you get to choose, when you're not under some screwed up curse of a fucked up amulet.”

The truth slams into Sam then. Dean might be right about him being a little slow. The amulet was likely twisting him up, influencing him to keep using its power. Sam had been so wrapped up in shame that it hadn't occurred to him that he wasn't in control of what he was doing.

Sam doesn't hesitate, his choice made long before today. “Kiss me, Dean, please.”

This kiss is different. This time it's slow. Dean's green eyes full of dark promises and so much love Sam could drown in it. Dean puts an arm around Sam's waist, pulls him close. He drags his nose along Sam's collarbone, up his neck and exhales right behind his ear. Sam shivers. 

“Love the way you smell, Sammy.” Dean sounds wrecked, voice low and graveled. Goosebumps blossom all across Sam's skin. Dean's other hand threads through Sam's hair and Sam nearly purrs as tiny shockwaves travel down his spine. 

Dean is gentle. He presses his lips to Sam's, soft as a brush of an eyelash, then again to one corner of his mouth, then the other. Each touch zips through him, a euphoric rush of pleasure, lust, and joy that has Sam's lips parting in a sigh. Dean takes that as an invitation and licks across Sam's lips, plunges his tongue into Sam's mouth. Sam is oh, so, instantly hard. He groans and clings to Dean, hands exploring the corded muscles in his brother's back.

“C'mon, Sam, kiss me back.” Sam does. He runs his tongue over Dean's plush softer-than-imagined lips, meets Dean's tongue and explores behind teeth as his blood hums with the need for more. His brother groans when Sam's teeth sink into his bottom lip, so Sam does it again, could do that forever, pull every sound out of Dean that he can possibly make.

Dean's noises murmured on his skin, grunts and unintelligible words, are intoxicating. Strong callused hands roam across his back and drift across the sliver of skin above his jeans. That simple touch makes his balls tighten and his cock drip, and he can't help rutting against Dean. Every defense Sam has built, shored up on the certainty that he couldn't survive this life crumbles away, being swept aside and replaced with new potentially happy possibilities. 

He runs his hands under Dean's shirt and across his belly. He stops there, unsure in the face of Dean's vast experience. Like always, Dean knows what Sam is going through and he moves Sam's hands up himself, right over his pecs, thumbs against his nipples. 

“Like this, Sam,” and Dean is mirroring him, hands under Sam's shirt. Thumbs glide over his nipples. They pebble and harden. Sam does the same to Dean and his brother nearly comes unglued. He moves his hand to Sam's ass and grinds them together, “Yeah, like that, fuck, Sam.” Sam could get addicted to this, Dean, blissed-out under his hands, looking wrecked and so beautiful that it's a tug to his heart.

His brother's shirts are in the way. Sam uses his hands to pull them up and off, kissing every bit of Dean he can reach. Dean moans, both hands twined through Sam's hair as Sam follows his hands with his mouth, worshiping every inch of skin he exposes. He pauses at the scar under Dean's ribs, kisses it as he flashes back to the night John dragged Dean, bloody, through the motel door. It was the first time he stitched his brother back together, but not the last.

As soon as the shirt’s off, he latches himself to Dean's mouth. He gets to do this. Fantasies he didn't know he had are right here and his for the taking, because Dean is his. Sam drops his hands to the button on Dean's pants.

Dean's hands move whip fast to grab Sam's wrist and all the sexy times grind to a halt. Sam tries to pull away, sure that Dean changed his mind. Why would Dean want Sam, his geek-boy brother with the too long hair and chicken legs.

“Damn it, Sam. It's never going to be easy with you, is it?” Dean moves so fast Sam doesn't see it until the room spins and he's looking down over his brother's shoulder. Dean carries him towards the bed and throws him on it. “One more time, Sam. I'm choosing this, choosing you. It's you and me, no one else. Okay?”

Sam palms himself, watches Dean's eyes go hooded and dark. “Why don't you get yourself naked and over here then?” He thinks he must be doing sexy right because Dean's down to his boxer briefs in a flash, straddling Sam's hip and looking at Sam like he's pie, and Baby, and a good hustle all wrapped up together.

“No nakedness, the underwear stays on,” Dean announces.

Sam pouts but Dean has that stubborn look that means he's not budging. 

“I'm not ready to take something from you I can't give back. So if that's not okay, we can stop right now.” 

Dean's dead serious. He'll walk away and leave Sam hanging. 

“You deserve more than me Sam, no matter what you think right now. If I'm your first everything, that doesn't leave you with the choice to change your mind. So for now it's second-base or nothing.”

The words cost Dean. Sam can see it in the tightness around the joint of his jaw and the nervous brush of Dean's hand tugging through his hair. Sam still needs to hear it. “But, you want to, right? Want to fuck me?”

“God Sam, you've got no idea.” Dean leans back on his heels, his hands fluttering in a vague gesture as he searches for the right word. “It's not only for you. If we do that and you change your mind, I don't know how I'd ever let you go.” A blush rises from Dean's sternum over the nipples Sam so recently caressed, up his throats, paints his cheeks rosy.

Dean puts his hands to either side of Sam's head, breathes over his mouth and says, low and throaty. “So what's it going to be Sammy - we gonna make out?” 

Sam thrusts his hips up and wiggles his butt until Dean lifts up, and shucks his jeans onto the floor. Dean watches him, glowing and so damn happy it's hard to look at. Dean never looks like this, relaxed, joyful, satisfied.

Clothes disposed of, Dean pulls the blankets and patched quilt over their heads. “Merry Christmas, Sammy.” 

“It really is. Love you, big brother.”

Dean lowers himself over Sam and Sam winds himself around Dean. It's the most complete and happy Sam can ever remember feeling, as if his soul has come to rest right where it belongs.

Sam didn't think he could have this, have Dean. Naturally, he never would have guessed Dean returned his cross-wired feelings. But more than that, he thought in this life that he lived on the road, hunting, he could never have loving touches and tender kisses, a relationship with someone who knows and understood everything about him. Now he can imagine a future with the one person he doesn't know how to live without. 

“Ow.” His hip stings where Dean pinched.

“If you've got that much brain space to use for thinking I must be doing something wrong.” 

Sam smiles and reaches up to rub at the worry creases in Dean's brow. Instead of trying to say it in words, Sam pulls his brother even tighter, rolls them over, and seals their lips together.

Under the mistletoe, next to a sad Christmas tree, in a year without presents, Sam's received the best gift of all, to love and be loved in return.


End file.
